What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.

Storytelling Checklist

Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this list of 6 vital storytelling ingredients from my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. While it's not a requirement that all of these elements must be on the first page, they can be, and I think you have the best chance of hooking a reader if they are.

Evaluate the submission—and your own first page—in terms of whether or not it includes each of these ingredients, and how well it executes them. The one vital ingredient not listed is professional-caliber writing because that is a must for every page, a given.

Story questions

Tension (in the reader, not just the characters)

Voice

Clarity

Scene-setting

Character

Scott has sent the first chapter of Family Secrets

When
you direct a psychiatric inpatient ward, whether it’s at Boston’s storied Trent
University Hospital or not, you’ve got to be attuned to every nuance of the
therapeutic milieu. The safety of your
patients and staff depends on it.

And
so I noticed on my way to the library when the head nurse raised an eyebrow. Especially because Laura Raino had been a
little different somehow since she broke up with my assistant ward chief.

Ryan
Harper had survived shooting himself in the head. He’d leveraged his wife’s family fortune in a
start-up business gamble and lost everything, including the wife and her family
enclave and the funds to send his boys to college. The motel room telephone startled him just as
he pulled the trigger, and the bullet glanced off his skull and knocked him
out.

He
claimed he no longer wanted to die. I
could understand his earlier hopelessness and shame--I might feel the same way
if I believed I’d failed my own family--but his sudden and unexplained reversal
didn’t ring true. Especially since his
two stalwart teenage sons came to visit every day, and he barely acknowledged
them.

Good writing, and I like the
voice—confident and clear—and there is a story question raised: where is the
patient? But I didn’t find that compelling enough—while these two people don’t
know where he is, the narrative didn’t give me a strong sense of jeopardy. And
it’s not clear that there’s a risk for the protagonist. I think the exposition
about the patient’s problems saps the narrative of energy.

There aren’t a lot of
nitpicks, so I did this: I simply cut out material to see
if there was a page I’d turn within the existing narrative. There was, and it follows. It could use a couple
of dialogue beats, but I’ll leave that to Scott to add. A second poll follows
to see if this is an improvement in the page-turning department. It raises a
very interesting story question about the protagonist, and inserts jeopardy for
the patient. Let me know.

When
you direct a psychiatric inpatient ward, you’ve got to be attuned to every nuance
of the therapeutic milieu. The safety of
your patients and staff depends on it.

And
so I noticed on my way to the library when the head nurse raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Dr. Randall,” Laura said. “Finish your session with Ryan Harper a
little early?”

“I didn’t have an appointment with Ryan.”

“Brandi
said that’s why he’s not in Men’s Group.”

“Then
where is he?”

She
shook her head.

My
stomach deserted its post for a new one near my tailbone. “Call an emergency
community meeting,” I said. “Maybe one
of the other patients knows something.
We’ll organize the rest of the staff to search.”

Three
minutes later we’d looked in every patient room and every staff office. The other patients either didn’t know or
weren’t saying.

This
was going to be bad if Ryan was still intent on killing himself, bad for
everyone. There would be a departmental
level Critical Incident Review. I liked
CIRs less than most doctors, because they could trigger an investigation of my
credentials, and my credentials were not what you’d call…beyond reproach.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.

Storytelling Checklist

Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this list of 6 vital storytelling ingredients from my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. While it's not a requirement that all of these elements must be on the first page, they can be, and I think you have the best chance of hooking a reader if they are.

Evaluate the submission—and your own first page—in terms of whether or not it includes each of these ingredients, and how well it executes them. The one vital ingredient not listed is professional-caliber writing because that is a must for every page, a given.

Story questions

Tension (in the reader, not just the characters)

Voice

Clarity

Scene-setting

Character

Scott has sent the first chapter of Family Secrets

When
you direct a psychiatric inpatient ward, whether it’s at Boston’s storied Trent
University Hospital or not, you’ve got to be attuned to every nuance of the
therapeutic milieu. The safety of your
patients and staff depends on it.

And
so I noticed on my way to the library when the head nurse raised an eyebrow. Especially because Laura Raino had been a
little different somehow since she broke up with my assistant ward chief.

Ryan
Harper had survived shooting himself in the head. He’d leveraged his wife’s family fortune in a
start-up business gamble and lost everything, including the wife and her family
enclave and the funds to send his boys to college. The motel room telephone startled him just as
he pulled the trigger, and the bullet glanced off his skull and knocked him
out.

He
claimed he no longer wanted to die. I
could understand his earlier hopelessness and shame--I might feel the same way
if I believed I’d failed my own family--but his sudden and unexplained reversal
didn’t ring true. Especially since his
two stalwart teenage sons came to visit every day, and he barely acknowledged
them.

Good writing, and I like the
voice—confident and clear—and there is a story question raised: where is the
patient? But I didn’t find that compelling enough—while these two people don’t
know where he is, the narrative didn’t give me a strong sense of jeopardy. And
it’s not clear that there’s a risk for the protagonist. I think the exposition
about the patient’s problems saps the narrative of energy.

There aren’t a lot of
nitpicks, so I did this: I simply cut out material to see
if there was a page I’d turn within the existing narrative. There was, and it follows. It could use a couple
of dialogue beats, but I’ll leave that to Scott to add. A second poll follows
to see if this is an improvement in the page-turning department. It raises a
very interesting story question about the protagonist, and inserts jeopardy for
the patient. Let me know.

When
you direct a psychiatric inpatient ward, you’ve got to be attuned to every nuance
of the therapeutic milieu. The safety of
your patients and staff depends on it.

And
so I noticed on my way to the library when the head nurse raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Dr. Randall,” Laura said. “Finish your session with Ryan Harper a
little early?”

“I didn’t have an appointment with Ryan.”

“Brandi
said that’s why he’s not in Men’s Group.”

“Then
where is he?”

She
shook her head.

My
stomach deserted its post for a new one near my tailbone. “Call an emergency
community meeting,” I said. “Maybe one
of the other patients knows something.
We’ll organize the rest of the staff to search.”

Three
minutes later we’d looked in every patient room and every staff office. The other patients either didn’t know or
weren’t saying.

This
was going to be bad if Ryan was still intent on killing himself, bad for
everyone. There would be a departmental
level Critical Incident Review. I liked
CIRs less than most doctors, because they could trigger an investigation of my
credentials, and my credentials were not what you’d call…beyond reproach.